Eric laughs. ‘I had a woman in this morning who told me with a completely straight face that when she doesn’t have her glasses on, she can’t see as well.’
‘Thanks for this, Eric,’ Jo says, gesturing to the tray. ‘It’s just what I needed.’ And she means more than the coffee and cake. She begins to wonder if Reverend Ruth was right, maybe she had read too much into the question, ‘Do you mind about Clare?’
Just then, there is a gentle knocking on the window and, without looking up, Jo knows who it will be. It was going far too well, and this, after all, is one of those days.
Clare is smiling at them both, face rosy, looking Christmassy in a scarlet coat and dark green scarf. Eric beckons to her, but Clare shakes her head, caramel toffee curls bouncing. Eric heads for the door, coffee and cake forgotten.
Jo takes a sip of her coffee and a bite of cake, all the time trying not to look like she is watching the pantomime going on outside. She reminds herself that Eric the Optician, of all people, will know that women have good peripheral vision, so he will know she is studying them from the edge of her eye. Not that he seems interested in Jo; he is concentrating on Clare. At first it looks like an argument, and she finds herself hoping it is. Then she sees Eric shake his head, as if he is giving in to Clare (well you do that, don’t you, when you’re in love) and she sees him lean in and give her a long, warm hug. She was right: it really is a bloody awful day.
Eric is suddenly back in the shop, grinning at her. ‘Got to go, but I … well, we … wondered … and no rush, next time …’
Jo wants to shout at him – at them –For God’s sake, spit it out!Instead she sits there, trying to look completely unfazed.
‘Next time Finn’s down, I was wondering if the four of us could go out?’
‘What? Christ, no!’
Two things strike Jo as she all but bellows this. That Eric looks confused and upset, and that now she is going to think of Ruth each time she saysChrist. This is followed by the realization that she just can’t bring herself to add:He’s not actually my boyfriend. He will not be coming down to see me. He’s got a new girlfriend keeping him warm in Northumberland.
‘Oh, okay. Right, sorry. Just a thought,’ Eric says, looking at her as if he is seeing her for the first time, the new Jo, who is neither average nor honest. Just rude.
And still she can’t say anything. If she says she’s not with Finn, Eric and Clare might feel sorry for her. And that she couldn’t bear. They might even say, come out with us on your own anyway. And she would rather throw herself naked into Hampstead Ladies’ Pond with a rock tied around her than do that.
‘Nice thought though,’ she says, meaning it to sound conciliatory – a type of apology. But it comes out just as she was thinking it – dripping with sarcasm.
Eric turns on his heel and the door closes with a bang. There follows a tinny clink from the broken bell, and finally the rattle of glass. She feels the loss of him like a physical force, like his leaving has created a vacuum and something of herself has been sucked out of the shop after him.
Next time she looks towards the window, Eric and Clare have disappeared.
Jo leans her elbows on the counter and puts her forehead in her hands. She was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, she did read too much into Eric and Clare’s meeting. She allowed in a glimmer of hope, let her guard down, and now she feels the pain of disappointment and loss slicing between her ribs.
And it feels like a double loss. She stares, unseeing, at the glass top of the counter. She thinks of a woman she once met on a bus in Greece. They talked for two hours non-stop. Then in Athens they went their separate ways, never to meet again. At the time Jo thought the woman could have been a close friend, if things had been different. Like Caramel Toffee Clare, the what-might-have-been friend.
Jo looks up at the twinkling lights. What is she doing here? Running this shop. Her life on hold. She thought she’d discovered something special through her love of stationery, but after a day like today – who’s she kidding? She may feel close to Uncle Wilbur here, have found a precious and unexpected friendship with Malcolm and Ruth, but London isn’t her home. Had she really thought it could be?
Her phone pings. Malcolm. His texts always make her smile (which is just what she needs right now). They are long, polite, and the punctuation is always correct.
Dear Joanne, I would like to discuss George Eliot and Issachar Zacharie with you and the Reverend Ruth. Our conversation the other day has spurred me on to reach certain conclusions, which I would like to share with you. The Reverend Ruth can make Friday. I hope you will be available too. Perhaps we could meet in the lounge bar of the public house near to Highgate Cemetery? Kind regards, Malcolm.
Jo texts straight back, inviting them to come to her flat for supper instead. She feels the need to submerse herself in her friendship with Ruth and Malcolm (and the ghosts), and she wants to do something nice for them. For all the mysteries and complexities surrounding Ruth and Malcolm, things seem easier when the three of them are together.
Besides, Friday is just after Lucy’s visit and Jo is pretty certain she will have a lot to discuss with them by then.
31
Lucy
Jo looks up and there she is, radiant (and very pregnant) in a burnt-orange dress, purple tights, cherry suede boots and a black-and-white checked swing coat. Her dark hair is piled on her head and Lucy is wearing her signature scarlet lipstick. Beside her is Lando, holding tight to a straining Ferdy, who is trying to pull him towards the door.
Jo was in the kitchen at the back of the shop, and the unexpectedness of the trio now standing by her counter momentarily throws her off balance. And then she is propelled as if by a force towards her best friend. She reaches her and hugs her, having to sidestep her belly to get as much of her in her arms as possible. Jo feels the power of Lucy’s returning embrace and she thinks, whatever follows, they will be okay. Their friendship has grown and been shaped over years and, despite losing their way, this counts for something. It is part of the two of them; it flows through them both and it is precious.
Lucy is now laughing and Ferdy is moaning.
‘I want to see Eric. This is thewrongshop.’
Jo is drawn back to the unusual sight of Lando in her shop (a Lando who is looking abnormally harassed), and she asks, ‘You okay, Lando? Can I help?’ while still holding tight to Lucy’s hand. ‘Oh, by the way, this is my best friend, Lucy,’ she adds. She says the ‘best friend’ with pride, and she hopes that Lucy hears it.
Lucy gives her hand a squeeze before releasing it. ‘Good to meet you, Lando. Now, Jo, where’s the loo? This baby has been tap-dancing on my bladder for the last half an hour.’
